


but i should have gone deeper but i'm not so brave

by ManaGummi



Series: so i fell asleep softly at the edge of a cave [2]
Category: Kingdom Hearts (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, M/M, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, medium ish burn?, mentions of quadratum, post khmom, shakes sora gee wonder how i can hurt him today, there's a burn in there somewhere
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:01:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28859247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ManaGummi/pseuds/ManaGummi
Summary: Living, the simple act of existing, wasn’t supposed to hurt, and Sora couldn’t tell why it did.-----------------Sora had already accepted the end. He hadn't planned on another beginning.
Relationships: Riku/Sora (Kingdom Hearts)
Series: so i fell asleep softly at the edge of a cave [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1720105
Comments: 17
Kudos: 57





	but i should have gone deeper but i'm not so brave

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes you get exhausted by going through medical diagnostic hell and make fic to cope, amirite?
> 
> no but seriously. this is perhaps the most important fic i've written so far (at least personally), and i hope the work and effort shows through. updates should hopefully be fairly speedy! please enjoy, and let me know what you think!

Living wasn’t supposed to hurt.

Sora had expected resurrection to hurt, and it did. It hurt in bright and brilliant cuts to his very soul, fractured him from the inside-out as a strong and ever-familiar hand yanked him through the boundary between dimensions. He fell back into life broken and bleeding, a mess of wounded spirit and flesh, clutching at the back of his savior and weeping as the weight of  _ feeling _ slammed back into him. Sora had never known hurt so intense in his life, but never wanted to change battering through it - would willingly charge headfirst into it again - if it meant he was allowed to stay in the world of life and color and feeling.

Living though…

Living wasn’t supposed to hurt, wasn’t supposed to drive a knife between his ribs and twist a quarter turn, just enough to send sharp, electric pain jolting through his side. Sora was accustomed to waking up with sore joints and deep aches in his muscles - it came with the Keyblade Wielder title - but each bit of pain had always been traceable, all accounted for and neatly cataloged in his mind: an achy knee from a too hard landing, a bruised shoulder from barreling his way through a swarm of Heartless, a battered hip from an unfortunate collision with a wall. Each wound had been minor, all of them had been explainable, all guaranteed to vanish with some time to heal. All of them  _ nothing _ like the sparking pain currently perched among his ribs.

Living, the simple act of  _ existing _ , wasn’t supposed to hurt, and Sora couldn’t tell why it did.

Sora wakes to lazy afternoon sunlight combing through his room in the Land of Departure, hazy yellow and too bright on his bleary eyes, and a throbbing pain curled up between the rungs of his ribs. He blinks twice, groggy and disoriented, and blindly stretches his hand out from beneath his pillow in search of his gummiphone. Sora has no idea what time it was, but judging by the cottony haze of his mind and the too-stiff ache of his joints, he gets the feeling that he’s slept well past morning. Again. 

He’s been doing that a lot lately.

It’s strange, really, that everyone let him get away with sleeping so late. Sora had assumed that bunking at the Land of Departure would mean rigid daily schedules and early wake up calls. Instead, Sora was frequently left to his own devices, even if that meant being dead to the world until 2:14 in the afternoon (he double-checks his gummiphone on that one, it’s  _ definitely  _ a new record). He wakes at a different time each day, stumbles out of bed and through his wakeup routine, and then drags himself to the kitchen to groggily warm up whatever leftovers the others saved for him from their latest meal. It’s a little routine all Sora’s own, and by the time he’s finally up and wandering the castle grounds he’s put together enough and chipper that no one asks questions about where he’s been all morning.

Today, Sora can immediately tell that the pain burrowing under his ribs will put a strain on his normal facade. He technically  _ could _ manage to make his daily appearance out of his room, but he knew he couldn’t do it with his normal - and  _ fake _ \- grin on his face. Sora can usually smile through countless wounds and mean it, can power through until he collapses in his bed at night to sleep off the worst of it. This new pain though, this pain with no source that seems to worm its way into his very bones, makes his façade falter. He hurts all the time, is tired all the time, and he’s been that way since Riku brought him home. Hurt is chipping away at him piece by piece, and Sora isn’t sure there’s enough of him left to put himself back together again.

So, on this half-gone summer day, Sora makes the decision to delay the fragmentation of his soul a little longer by just staying in bed. He’s pretty sure he can get away with it. The castle is large and Sora was prone to aimless exploration on his good days, so everyone would just assume he was wandering and wouldn’t be worried if they didn’t see him for most of the day. As long as he drags himself upright by the time Riku returns to their shared room in a few hours, he can escape any worried glances or tentative, hesitant questions. Sora gives a weary little sigh as he sets his gummiphone back on his nightstand to snuggle back down into the bed covers.

Then Riku walks through the door.

Sora forgot he is never as lucky as he thinks he is.

His first instinct is to stay still and pretend to be asleep. It won’t entirely keep Riku from asking questions about why Sora hasn’t left their room all day, but it might at least delay the inevitable long enough for Sora to possibly recuperate a bit of energy. Just enough that he can smile and finger gun his way through the coming interrogation. However, Sora’s first instinct is wrong, because Sora forgot he isn’t lucky, and he forgot that Riku has been able to tell when Sora was faking sleep since Riku was eight years old and had to drag Sora out of bed for their morning walk to school.

“Sora?”

The soft concern coating Riku’s voice hurts Sora almost as much as the buried pain in his side. Riku sounds concerned a lot lately, and while Sora can tell Riku’s trying to stay as casual and  _ normal _ as possible, he can also tell that another year alone had taken its toll and left his best friend a little clingy, a little desperate. Three months post-Quadratum wasn’t enough time for a wound that big to scab over and heal, and on long sleepless nights when Riku’s breath came a little too fast, Sora knew it was still slowly bleeding. There’s a kind of need nestled within Sora’s fractured heart there. A need that yearns to stem the bleeding and bandage the wound, help Riku keep it clean and protected until it closes up and melds into the archive of scars mapping his body. Yet, Sora’s not sure if he can, and he’s not sure how to even try. All he knows to do is smile a little wider and hug a little tighter and hope it’s enough.

For now, Sora settles on loosening the blankets he’d pulled tight around him so he can roll over and face Riku. He purposely lets the blanket tangle around him during the motion so that they catch at his ankles and wrists, causing him to tug and flail with goofy awkwardness that he hopes can smooth out the pinched expression he can tell Riku is wearing. 

Sora’s plan works a little  _ too _ well though, and somehow he ends up with an arm pinned underneath his side, the other bound across his chest by his blanket, and his face half-smushed against his pillow. It’s uncomfortable, but Sora ignores it in order to meet Riku’s eyes with a lopsided smile. “Hiya,” he chirps with the most nonchalant tone he can muster, silently praying for a little upward quirk of Riku’s lips.

He’s rewarded with something even better: a soft, fond chuckle. Sora ignores the way his heart squeezes at the sound.

Riku shakes his head and laughs again as Sora flashes him a pointed grin and waggles his eyebrows before walking over to sit on the edge of the bed. “Having fun, are we?” Riku asks as he reaches out and begins to tug a blanket loose around Sora’s shoulder. The release in pressure is immediate and relieving, and with a little more flailing Sora has himself free, blankets pooling around his waist as he sits up and crosses his legs beneath him. He flashes Riku a quick, easy smile and desperately tries to ignore the way Riku’s fond expression twists his stomach into knots.

When Riku speaks again, Sora’s stomach is in knots for a different reason.

“Have you been in here all day?” Riku asks. His tone is careful and measured, neutral in a way that tells Sora he’s masking how he really feels. If anyone asked Sora, it’s one of Riku’s most annoying habits, but right now Sora is tired and achy and can’t quite muster the energy to pull Riku out of it like he wants to. 

Instead, he shrugs the last blanket off his shoulders and stretches his arms above his head while Riku watches. “Nah,” Sora lies with practiced ease - and when did lying become practiced? - as his elbows give a little  _ pop _ before he brings his arms back down to his lap. “I was just taking a nap. You know I always get sleepy on days like this!” Sora nods his head towards the sloping bedroom windows, the bright sunlight filling the room with a hazy, heady warmth that really did have Sora longing to fall back asleep.

Riku follows Sora’s gesture and gazes out the window for a moment. “Yeah,” he hums. There’s something beneath the surface of Riku’s expression that bothers Sora, because he can’t quite place it, can’t quite see through the cracks in Riku’s armor like he once could. Parts of Riku are different now, foreign and wounded in ways that Sora’s sure he caused but doesn’t know how to fix. Sometimes, Sora’s scared that he’s losing Riku again: not to darkness, but to time and distance and too long stretches of separation. Sometimes, Sora’s scared that Riku’s afraid he’s losing Sora to the same thing.

A year apart would do that, Sora supposes.

But then again, it’s only been three months, and Riku’s still here, isn’t he? Riku’s been here, from the moment he pulled Sora back into life up to now, in a place far away from home in a too big castle with too much to do. Riku returns to their shared room every night and climbs into their shared bed and they both lie silently, shoulders touching, and try to figure out how to mend the jagged little edges of themselves. It’s a start, and it’s too slow for Sora’s liking, but he has to remind himself that slow is needed after so, so long.

(a year a year a year a year his mind chants and how much damage can a year do to a man alone he wonders) 

Riku needs patience, time, quiet. Sora has given him so little lately, he can at least give him this.

Sora leans forward  _ \- slowly, slowly, remember the patience - _ and bumps his shoulder against Riku’s own. “Stop worrying, I’m fine,” he says lowly, softly, hoping that the hush of his whisper hides the guilt of his lie. He watches as Riku blinks out of whatever thoughts he’d been lost in and tries not to frown when Riku’s little smile looks pained. 

Riku bumps his shoulder back and straightens until he’s perched on the edge of the bed. “Gonna take a guess that you slept through lunch then, huh Sora?” Riku’s smile this time, a smirk really, is genuine, and Sora knows he’s won nothing, but he’ll take what he’s offered anyway. 

Sora rubs the back of his head, truly a little sheepish, and crawls across the bed to shove Riku again before clambering off the mattress. “Maybe just a bit,” he admits as he stretches his back and legs - _ wow _ he’s stiff, the price you pay for sleeping all day - with a groan. There’s a slight huff behind him, and Sora knows the exact moment that Riku rolls his eyes. He knows the exact amount of unguarded fondness he’d find on Riku’s face too, if he just turned around to look.

He doesn’t turn around.

A year had made Riku lonely, and it had made Sora a coward.

Sora doesn’t turn around, instead padding across the room to fish a set of clothes out of the dresser. “Do ya think Terra saved some lunch for me?” he shoots over his shoulder as walks into their attached bathroom to change.

Riku hums behind him, and Sora hears the bed creak as his best friend stands up. “Ven did today, actually. Pretty sure he left a note with it.” Sora can’t help but chuckle at that. Ven’s tendency to leave little notes for Sora was… touching, honestly. Significant in a way that many things have been since Sora returned and was forced to face the depth of his absence, the smallest of actions always leaving him overwhelmed and raw in the wake of the care behind them. A part of Sora once thought he didn’t matter at all, and now that part grew a little smaller each day. 

It almost made the aches in his body worth it.

He mentally shakes the thought off and, now changed with his shoes laced and ready, turns back to Riku. “Wanna keep me company while I eat, or do you need to get back to Aqua?” Sora didn’t know what Riku and Aqua did all day, and while normally he’d be fine simply chalking it up to  _ Keyblade Master Stuff  _ he couldn’t shake disappointment at just how often Riku was gone for it all. Terra was a master now too, so why wasn’t he spending hours and hours sequestered away in hidden rooms of the castle, learning lore and technique and more? It wasn’t fair, but it also wasn’t something Sora could change. He’d just have to take what time with Riku he could get.

Thankfully, Riku shakes his head as he pushes himself off the bed. “No, we finished early today.” He walks towards Sora with sure and steady steps, and as he passes he claps Sora on the shoulder. “C’mon, I’m sure you’re starving and I’m not listening to you whine about how hungry you are later.” Riku gives Sora a tender, gentle smile, and Sora is about to lean into the hand on his shoulder when that smile quickly morphs in a smirk right before Riku dashes out the open door.

Sora blinks. “Wha- hey, Riku!” He sprints off after him, feet pounding the tile floor as he chases the musical sound of Riku’s laughter. As they both rush through the halls, shouting and laughing and taunting each other, Sora forgets about the past three months. For a brief, blissful moment, he forgets about everything: wars and keyblades, dual toned eyes and crystal coffins, bone deep hurt and the slumber of death. In that moment he’s just Sora from Destiny Islands, just a boy with no cares aside from beating his best friend in a race. He feels lighter, brighter in a way. Sora feels free in a way he can’t recall ever being, and he knows then that he’ll do whatever it took to keep this feeling.

Then they run into Aqua.

Sora skids to a halt just before crashing into Riku’s back, his best friend already standing tall with a politely neutral expression on his exertion flushed face. Sora had been a few seconds behind, and in the time it took him to catch up Riku and Aqua and seem to have already started up a conversation.

“- forgot to go over this with you,” Aqua’s saying when Sora is finally able to hear her over his own panting breaths. There’s a book gently cradled in her grasp, the title long and winding and Sora immediately knows it’s more  _ Keyblade Master Stuff _ . “Do you have a moment to look at it with me? Oh, hello Sora,” Aqua finishes with a polite nod toward Sora. Even as disappointment bubbles low in his stomach, Sora manages to give her a half-hearted wave.

Riku, for his part, shoots Sora a look that can only be described as guilty, his sea-green gaze searching Sora’s face for the answer to Aqua’s question. Sora just smiles, hopes it looks genuine, and shoos Riku off with a wave of his hands. “You go help Aqua. It’s gotta be important.” Sora takes two short hops back from the two Keyblade Masters, raising a hand to wave goodbye and hoping he can duck out before the disappointment starts to paint his face. “I’ll see you later, Riku!”

Turning on his heel, Sora makes to bolt down the hallway as he had been doing, but Riku calls his name and stops him in his tracks. When Sora turns around, he sees something he can’t name in Riku’s gaze, something a bit sad and maybe… wistful? “Meet me out by the training grounds later?” Riku asks, and Sora wishes Riku knew that he never had to ask for anything. Not from Sora. He swallows the sentiment down before it can flow out of him unbidden and flashes Riku a quick thumbs up and a smile before finally jogging off to the kitchen.

He doesn’t miss the frown on Riku’s face as he leaves.

\-----------------------------------------

The kitchen isn’t always empty whenever Sora manages to drag himself there, because normally Sora ambles in just after lunch when whoever is on dish duty is still cleaning up. Today it’s close to three in the afternoon by the time he swings in, and he didn’t really expect to see anyone waiting around. Especially not the one person in the castle Sora couldn’t get a solid read on and who he was fairly sure hated his guts: Vanitas.

“Look who finally fucking joined us.”

Yup, Vanitas definitely hates his guts.

Normally, Sora is fine waving off Vanitas and his pithy comments, but today irritation burns bright in his chest alongside a throbbing soreness, so he’s really not into playing too nice. He shoots his doppelganger a withering glare as he balls his fists at his sides. “Thanks for the warm welcome,” he grumbles.

Vanitas laughs - and man his laugh is  _ grating _ \- as Sora shoulders past him to the fridge. He took long enough to get here that Ven probably set Sora’s lunch in the same spot they always do when Sora comes to lunch behind schedule. It’s sweet, really, that they keep it consistent. Another one of those tiny gestures that make Sora feel gleefully weak and teary-eyed, or at least they would if Vanitas wasn’t coldly eyeing him. Sora’s not one to hide his emotions from anyone really, but something about Vanitas makes him guarded.

He doesn’t love how that feels.

Sora pushes those feelings aside for the moment though, and instead pops open the fridge to confirm that Ven had indeed left a packed lunch for Sora in the usual spot, and that - true to Riku’s word - there was a little folded note placed on top of it. Sora could already see a little smiley face drawn on top. Ven was predictable but in the best way possible, and it softened the hard edge building in Sora’s chest.

He grabs the little container down from its shelf and wills magic up through his fingers and into the glass of the bowl to heat it. Sure, they had a microwave here, but magic was so much more effective  _ and  _ befitting of a grand, old castle in a place like the Land of Departure. Sora refused to be the one to break the illusion and theming of such an ancient place. 

He hums to himself, low and quiet, as the bowl slowly warms in his palms. What could Riku and Aqua be doing right now? Riku thought he was done for the day, and while Sora doesn’t blame him for having to take a detour from their time together, he can’t help but feel a curl of jealous longing tangle in his ribs. It was fine that Riku was a master, Sora had gotten over that misplaced anger long ago, and it was fine that he had duties to tend to that didn’t involve his childhood friend. But there’s a piece of Sora that feels neglected, hurt by the time apart, even though he knew he really had no right to feel such a way.  _ Sora _ was the one who left Riku for what he thought would be eternity, after all. He’s lucky that a year is all he missed. 

Even if that year might have broken them both.

“Are you planning on eating molten glass?” Vanitas’s snide voice cuts through Sora’s thoughts, and he jolts so hard that he almost drops the bowl in his hands. The magic in his fingers winks out at once, and when Sora settles he nearly lets the bowl go again when the glass burns to the touch.

“Oh, shit!” Sora yelps. With quick, frantic movements, Sora all but slams the bowl onto the counter and waves his hands through the air to cool the lingering heat on his skin. “Shit, shit, shit- that could have been bad,” he mutters under his breath, startled and a touch panicked.

Behind him, Vanitas chuckles cruelly. “No shit. Lost in thought there, boy wonder?”

Sora swings his head around and glares. “Don’t call me that, and it’s none of your business, Vanitas.” A cautious touch and turn of the bowl shows no cracks or damage from Sora’s lapse in concentration, although he’s definitely going to need to wait for his food to cool down now. He hears Vanitas huff behind him and braces himself for whatever nasty remark he’ll make next.

Sure enough, Vanitas doesn’t disappoint. “Then stop fucking making it my business,” he snaps.

Sora clenches his fists and stills, taking a moment for a deep breath in, in, in through the nose, try to hold it for just a bit, out slowly through the mouth. “How,” Sora starts, “am I making  _ anything _ your business?” Frustration blooms in his chest, and Sora can tell from the whip quick cracks of pain and pure  _ force _ that dance through his limbs that he’s quickly approaching the edge of something deep, dark, and horrifying that he’s tried so,  _ so  _ hard to keep at bay since he’d returned. He’s tried to be bright, happy, upbeat,  _ light _ in every way he can manage so he won’t cause problems for Aqua, for Terra, for Ven, for  _ Riku _ \- 

(gods he’s caused so many fucking problems for riku what is sora even  _ doing _ )

-and here on one unremarkable afternoon in the godsdamned kitchen Sora feels all his work unraveling. The thread of his will pooling in a tangled heap on the floor while Sora tries to keep the rest together, tries, tries, tries and fails once again just like every time before. All because  _ one person _ speaks with words sharpened like knives poised to cut, and of course it’s the  _ one person _ who wears Sora’s own face. Sora’s ready to fight suddenly, to whirl around and sling fists and insults like Vanitas so  _ clearly _ wants, and Sora wants it now too. Wants the burn of a fight in his blood and the sting in his knuckles as they meet flesh and-

“Everyone’s fucking worried, idiot.”

- _ and  _ it all drains out of him. Every speck of fury evaporates from Sora’s body in an instant, leaving only pain and heavy, crushing guilt in its wake. Sora’s fingers dig even deeper into his palms at Vanitas’s words, stinging hard enough that he’s certain he’s broken through the skin.  _ Everyone’s _ worried. “Even you?” Sora chokes out, a raspy little whisper, and when Vanitas scoffs behind him Sora can’t tell if that makes him feel any better.

Vanitas pushes himself off the counter he’s been leaning on. “Of course not,” he answers. “But Ven’s worried, which means he bothers me about it all the time. It’s annoying as hell.”

Ven’s worried- of  _ course  _ Ven’s worried  _ Ven’s  _ been with Sora almost as long as Riku  _ of course _ he knows something’s wrong and Sora’s such fucking  _ idiot _ for not realizing sooner that-

“Look,” Vanitas cuts through the fog of thoughts again. “Whatever you’ve got going on, fucking sort it out soon,” he demands. “Everyone’s walking on eggshells for you, and it’s pissing me off. So get it together,” he spits with finality. He shoots a glance at the bowl on the counter. “And try not to melt anything while you’re at it.” With nothing left to say, Vanitas jerks his hand in a dismissive wave and stalks off, leaving Sora alone with his thoughts.

He’s not really hungry anymore.

\---------------------------------------------

The Land of Departure’s castle is large and deceptively complex. It’s not like Yen Sid’s tower, which swapped rooms and added entire floors based on its mood that day, but it’s tall and packed full of hidden rooms and hallways - almost like the bleach white walls of a distant, dreamlike world with buildings stacked and stacked and stacked atop each other, so high that sora could climb for days and not see the top because he’s trapped stuck hopeless _alone_ _-_ that leave Sora with plenty to explore when he needs time to himself.

He’s not really sure what floor he’s idling on today, considering Sora was so mired in his own thoughts that he barely remembers leaving the kitchen at all, but something about the mosaic trim along the wall seems familiar enough that Sora’s fairly sure he’s been here before. Stretching out his arm, Sora lets his fingers glide over the tile as he walks, smooth ceramic gliding under his calloused fingertips with dips of rough grout in between. The mosaic features swirling tides of light and darkness, twining together prettily and in perfect harmony with each other. Delicately balanced, but strong. Kind of like Riku. Very not like Sora.

Maybe Sora shouldn’t be so hard on himself over his latent instability. He’s dealt with it long enough now, constantly tossed back into inner chaos every time he thinks he’s about to figure himself out, and it’s not like it’s  _ really _ been a big deal in the end. Besides, their team has Aqua and Terra and  _ Riku, _ who all juggle light and dark like it’s an old, easy game. They’re masters for a reason, steady in ways Sora’s never been and can never see himself being. Stable, reliable, strong, and not the kind of people who sleep all day just because they ache a little bit.

Sora steps into a beam of evening sun slanting through one of the large arched windows, and he only feels cold.

His chest aches, the pain nestled somewhere deep in his ribs and burrowing down, down to his heart. Sora wants to claw it out, wants to tear through his skin and crack open his ribcage and  _ pull _ until the hurt bleeds out. He wants to see it pool at his feet, all hot tar and black ink, and watch as it spreads across the floor, a growing void of all the bad things trapped within him finally set free. Maybe then he’d be better, stronger,  _ clean. _

Light glints off the buckles of Sora’s shoes, blinding him with its glare and Sora just stares and stares and stares. His fingers drop from the tiled wall, fall and rest limply at his side and for the first time Sora wishes he was empty.

\----------------------------------------------

Truthfully, Sora did not want to stay at the Land of Departure. In the days following his return from oblivion everyone had made plans for him, poked and prodded with good intentions to make sure he and Riku were whole and all there, brought meals to him and insisted that he “rest up, you’re okay here.” It was fine in those first days, those stretches when time had no meaning and no form of measurement beyond “times when Riku was there” and “times when Riku was gone.” Sora doesn’t remember much of those days aside from strong arms around his waist and warm skin and a firm, steady shoulder to cry and cry and cry on.

It was about a month of doting and coddling and gentle cooing words and a feeling too similar to floating in stasis before Sora finally felt  _ want _ again. He can recall the way that something lit up behind Riku’s eyes when Sora told him he  _ wanted _ to go home, remembers the way Riku had placed a hand on his shoulder and said it was a great idea, relives the drop of disappointment when Aqua gave him an apologetic look and said she wasn’t comfortable sending them back to the islands. It was too soon, Sora was still too thin and too gaunt. He needed to be someplace where the others could keep an eye out, be nearby in case dying turned out to have serious - and delayed - side effects.

Sora felt  _ want _ when Aqua presented the options. He could stay at the Tower, where Mickey and Yen Sid and the others could float in and out and help how they could, but Yen Sid’s gaze had always made Sora squirm, so he wanted a different option. Radiant Garden was tempting, the smiles of Leon and Yuffie and Aerith echoing in Sora’s mind until he realized that he’d have to be subjected to the well meaning but invasive tests of Ienzo and Even. Sora wanted the questioning and exams to stop, and he told Aqua so in a tired mumble.

All that remained was the Land of Departure. Aqua, Terra, and Ven had been slowly repairing and renovating the castle, and if Riku came along - which  _ of course _ Riku would come along - they could train him in the ways of a Keyblade Master. It was spacious and wide and sunny and  _ quiet, _ and Sora couldn’t really find a reason to object. It wasn’t what he wanted most, but the conversation was exhausting him, so Sora settled for wanting something lesser.

Two months into living here though, and Sora has to admit, at the very least, that the stars are beautiful. The grass lining the dirt arena of the training grounds is cropped neat and short, and Sora sprawls out wide on it just to feel how each blade tickles his skin. The sky seems endless and deep here, and even though Sora has traversed so much of it in so little time, knows what lies immediately beyond the world he’s on now, he’s still struck by the intensity and vastness of it all.

To think that three months ago he had given up on seeing this sky, this far reaching plane of life, ever again. It’s terrifying in its beauty, something Sora never wants to give up again, but at the same time its majesty constricts his throat, stifles the breath in lungs, and Sora has never felt so horribly  _ small _ . Grass clumps together in his fists, and Sora forces slow breaths through his nose as he wills away the panic fraying the edges of his vision.

In. Out. Repeat ad nauseum. Don’t think for a moment. Just breathe. Sora breathes. Sora waits. Sora hopes.

And by the time Sora hears familiar footfalls shuffling in the grass near him, he can almost pretend he’s okay.

Riku sits down on the grass next to Sora with simple, fluid movements, one long leg stretched before him and a knee bent and pulled close to his chest. Sora watches Riku lean back on his arms, and admires how his hair frames the cut of his jaw as he stares up at the stars. His hair has gotten a little longer lately, Sora notes. For a moment he wants to let go, to reach out and tuck an errant lock of that silver hair behind Riku’s ear, to pretend for a moment that Sora doesn’t have too many broken, jagged pieces in him to be desirable, to be good.

Sora tucks his hands under his head on the grass, and instead he pretends that it’s enough.

“You know,” Riku says in a hushed tone, breaking the silence between them. “You never showed me those constellations you’ve talked so much about.” His eyes are still locked on the sky, and in the cloak of night Sora can’t be sure but he thinks he sees something dark and tired blotting the skin beneath his eyes.

Sora hums, pushes down the spark of want that tells him to get in Riku’s face and check to see for certain if Riku’s okay. He guides his own gaze up to the sky. “Can’t really see ‘em from here,” he answers. “Olympus is pretty far away, so…”  _ We could always go there together _ . Sora almost finishes the thought, almost grabs Riku’s hand and sprints to the gummi ship, but he’s locked in by a deep-seated fear before he can even try. Fear of rejection, fear of hurt, fear of the little voice in Sora’s head that says a constellation made in the image of a boy hero won’t stick around when the boy isn’t so heroic anymore.

Beside him, Riku curls forward, one arm propped on his bent knee, and Sora has seen Riku sit like this a thousand times before but something about him in this moment looks so  _ small _ . “Guess so,” Riku murmurs.

“Hey, we’ll get there eventually.” Sora keeps his tone light as he reaches out a hand to rap his knuckles against Riku’s thigh. “You’re learning a lot with Aqua, so I bet pretty soon she’ll let us visit other worlds again.” He tucks his hand back under his head, but keeps his gaze fixed on Riku’s profile. He’s rewarded by the little quirk of Riku’s mouth, and Sora thrills at the sight only for it to drop into a tight frown a moment later. “Riku?”

Riku shifts minutely, clears his throat too loudly in the quiet night. “I’m sorry, Sora,” he mumbles.

What? Sora pushes himself up into a seated position, his chest tight and sickly warm at the sudden drop in tone from his best friend. “Riku, what are you sorry for?” A thousand thoughts flit through Sora’s head: Riku’s blaming himself for something, Riku’s going away again, Riku’s tired of Sora, Riku’s sick of picking up the pieces. Sora doesn’t notice the knot in chest pull tighter or the way he’s breathing quickly shallows. He only sees the sad pinch of Riku’s eyes as he looks at the stars.

A heavy sigh leaves Riku’s lips. “I just-” he begins as he turns to Sora. Then he freezes, concern instantly etched onto his features. “Sora, what’s wrong?” Riku’s hand is suddenly gripping Sora’s shoulder, and everything looks blurry and hazy and Sora can’t  _ see _ . “Hey, hey Sora you need to breathe.” Riku’s voice is soft and gentle and warm and he squeezes Sora’s shoulder just a bit and-

The tension breaks just enough for Sora to suck in a trembling breath, Riku whispering gentle words as Sora heaves more air into his lungs, his warm hand rubbing Sora’s arm soothingly. Sora allows himself a moment to just breathe, just exist with his best friend soothing him like he’s done so many times before. Then, he starts to will the tears down and force his breathing to be even, and by the time he’s barely hiccuping on each inhale Riku speaks again.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Sora chokes out. “Yeah, sorry I- I don’t know what really happened.” It’s a lie, kind of a pathetic one, and Sora kind of wants to take it back when something heavy shines in Riku’s eyes. But he’s hurting and tired and still a little bit scared, so he shoots Riku the best wobbly smile he can manage and pats Riku’s hand on his shoulder. “Anyway, what were you apologizing for?”

For a moment Sora can tell Riku wants to push the issue, the challenge glinting in his eyes, but he pulls back his arm after one more quick squeeze to Sora’s shoulder. “I’ve been so busy lately with Aqua’s lessons,” he whispers, gaze still searching for something in Sora’s red, puffy eyes. “I feel like I’ve been ignoring you, or leaving you alone I guess. It just- It doesn’t seem fair to you.”

_ It’s not _ , Sora wants to say. He’s missed Riku with a ferocity that rocks him to his core, that makes him want to be needy and clingy and possessive of his time when they’re together, but it’s not Riku’s fault either. He’s a Keyblade Master through and through, including all the training and studying and secrecy that comes with it. Sora knows that Aqua needs Riku trained as a Master as much as Riku needs the extra guidance, but Sora really is  _ lonely. _

But he can’t tell Riku that.

“Aw, it’s fine!” he attempts to chirp. “You gotta get through it all at some point, and it’s not like it’s forever, right?” His smile this time is a little firmer if even less genuine, but Riku lets it slide again and gives a hesitant smile back.

“Yeah, it’s not forever.”

Sora punches Riku’s shoulder, delighting in the chuckle it earns him. “Then it’s no big deal, okay? Just don’t slack on your training unless you want me to thrash you next time we spar.”

The chuckle blooms into a full, if small, laugh, and Sora feels like he’s something special when he hears it. “Deal.” Riku bumps his shoulder against Sora’s. “But it’s pretty bold of you to think you can win against a  _ Keyblade Master _ .”

“Oh, shut up!” Sora laughs. He shoves Riku again, harder this time, and when Riku falls to the grass below he hooks a hand in Sora’s collar to bring him with him. Together they tumble and wrestle in the grass in a way they haven’t since they first left the islands, and underneath foreign, beautiful stars, Sora allows himself to feel a speck of hope that everything will be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to come yell with me on twitter @managummi


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